


silk garden

by rackam



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 05:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18243461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rackam/pseuds/rackam
Summary: Rackam finds a curious box while sorting items on the Grandcypher.





	silk garden

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for valentines but suddenly its March

The dimly lit kitchen rests in a corner of the Grandcypher, quiet engine rolling on a holiday night.

Aoidos watches as a drunk Eugen slowly trods away into the dorms, then turns his attention to his company on the counter.

“Just us now. Want me to cut the small talk?” he asks.

Rackam’s lips part from his drink and he nods briefly.

“You look more delicate than usual. Is it because of this…?” Aoidos lifts a finger and circles the light coat of makeup on his face.

Rackam’s face reddens and he utters the biggest lie of the evening.

“It’s nothing special,” he mumbles. He steals a glance at Aoidos and his eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?”

Aoidos plants a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Have a little faith in me, dear.”

Warm light sprinkles on marble countertop—the kitchen paints a tiny glint in the mass skies of Phantagrande. The light bounces off their faces and Rackam’s eyes luminate the entire deck.

Rackam is glowing, Aoidos realizes, as his eyes wonder at how soft his lips are.

He isn’t sure who to thank—the gods, probably, for letting Rackam with makeup exist as a reality. Aoidos feels he’s in the presence of a deity.

“It’s pretty,” Aoi murmurs. _Rackam_ is pretty, he thinks, eyes fixated at his contour.

“And no, I’m not drunk,” he adds, his glass only half empty. “You have terrible taste.”

“...Right,” Rackam scoffs. His drink sloshes in gentle swirls. “You’re still a lightweight."

Aoidos sinks onto the counter and sighs, like lightning had struck him as a consequence. “Alright, you win. Let’s talk _erotica_ now, hm?”

Bingo. There’s the blunt description Rackam wanted to hear.

He's always felt ambivalent about this part of Aoidos: how he dances and twists around before falling straight to the point.

“Anyway,” Aoidos muses, the words heavy on his tongue. “I want to give you a special tribute this evening.”

Rackam cocks a brow. Their distance shortens; the pads of his fingers lift from the counter and meet Aoidos’ own. His drink swirls bitter in his mouth and he nods again, motioning for Aoidos to continue. Aoidos fills the conversation with sweet nothings until Rackam’s empty glass lands the counter with a _clink._  

Little does Aoidos know what plans are stored under Rackam’s sleeve.

-

Aoi fumbles with the wooden door until Rackam reaches over him and locks it shut.

Right. He’s courting the man who built an entire ship with his own two hands. The realization alone tickles Aoidos’ spine.

The clank of armor and heels echoes as they locate Aoidos‘ bed (Rackam decides it’s better to come here than a room decorated with darts and gun equipment).

The air shifts. Rackam exhales when Aoi plants him on the bed. Their lips are centimeters apart; Aoidos swipes at a bit of his lipstick before prying Rackam open with his tongue, chin brushing his stubble. He’s kissed before, held a myriad of people in his palm like he does now, but none compare to Rackam, whose lips are unbelievably soft and loving. Aoidos thinks it’s impossible to feel this wonderful.

As if to prove his point, Rackam spreads himself in Aoidos’ grasp, who wastes no time on his lover’s belt. Aoidos slides his hands under brown fabric, finally uncovers warm, peachy skin and— ivory?

Oh. _Oh._

Aoidos shoves Rackam’s pants down to see a beautiful white lace underneath.

“Surprise?” Rackam has a shit-eating grin and Aoidos wants to kiss him silly.

Rackam was going to be the death of him, Aoidos concurs. The lacy weapon of sheer beauty sharpens, nearly blinds him the more he looks at Rackam.

Rackam’s face burns as red as his stage name when hands explore his thigh. He knows it’s sexy, but doubt builds in his throat when Aoidos inspects his garter belt leggings. Aoidos reads the slight fear on his face and hastens to reassure him.

“I’ll never get over these,” he says, pressing their faces together;  he feels warm against Rackam’s bottom lip.

He slowly unhooks a strap, eager to dip his fingers beneath the elastic band and pull the material off. It’s silk, soft and dainty in his palm;  he marvels at how it sits on Rackam’s knee.

“White suits you very well,” he says.

“...Is that why you chose them?” Rackam’s expression is skeptical. He _knows_ Aoidos has a secret collection hidden somewhere on deck.

Aoidos wears a sly grin. Rackam knows every corner of the ship and was bound to find his private, relocated boxes soon enough.

“Did you like them?” he asks.

“Mm,” Rackam won’t admit how his sorting sessions were delayed because he wound up doing more than just liking them.

They’re comfortable, white satin spread along his front and back. The brass under his shirt doesn’t hold his entire chest properly and his nipples peek out from underneath.

Red strands of hair mesh with the lace as Aoidos hovers over him, spreading him eagle-wide on the bed. It’s embarrassing for Rackam to feel this bare, like a blank canvas with nothing to offer. But Aoidos firmly borders him, the light in his eyes reflecting like the glimmer of a sunlight stone. It’s unbelievable how Rackam literally glows under him, more radiant than Aoidos could ever imagine, even in his wildest dreams when he’s alone and dirty lyricisms fail to satisfy.

He wets his lips before slowly peeling off the material with his teeth, eyes steady on Rackam who stiffens—he’s ticklish—it isn’t from the soft kisses peppering the inner side of his thigh. Aoidos nips the joint in his groin and Rackam thrusts into open air with a small yelp. Pain and pleasure rush together with kisses and marks until finally Aoidos’ nose finds the band of underwear. He loves this about Rackam, the way his blunt expression falls and trust settles over him when he’s most vulnerable.

Aoidos circles the tip of his covered length with his lips, smirks when he hears a small curse from above him. Rackam near bites his lip when a hand slides forward to prod a lace covered nipple and shove the rest of his shirt to his collarbone.

Aoidos was impressed. He didn’t expect Rackam to put on the full set.

Their breaths mingle before Rackam has time to think and lean into another kiss, tongues colliding and searching fervently. Rackam’s face is soft—it’s something Aoidos has always known prior, but is especially aware of now. A combination of sweat, mint, and bits of alcohol tinge his tongue. Aoidos groans at the light moan from Rackam when silk lines graze his nipple. Rackam slips more quiet noises when Aoidos grazes his crotch. A finger lifts white sewn petals and runs across his tip in quick, soft motions. His tongue lowers, picks up sweat and saliva until a nipple latches his mouth. Beads of precome trickle his hand, and Aoi sucks harder, moves his hair to see Rackam now gasping for breath. His makeup is smeared now, and his lower lip redder than usual, probably from biting too hard.

“You’re plenty aroused, love,” Aoi mumbles on his chest, giving his wrist one slight jerk, then two. “Want me to finish?"

“No—” Rackam claps down on his mouth quickly, his muffled cry too loud. “I mean, please...”

“Then what?” Aoidos pauses, wanting to shove Rackam’s hand away, and this is where _Rackam_ can’t get straight to the point.

The words were small. Aoidos practically hears his mind churn in circles about how to say _I want you inside me_.

“Rackam,” Aoidos prompts. His knees hike until hips firmly line Rackam’s joint. Their crotches rub tenderly and a low whine melts in Rackam’s throat.

“I’m not moving until you say the word.” Aoi murmurs. “Your call.”

Rackam lifts his eyes then starts in slow gasps, the hands pulling at the sheets as red as Aoidos’ irises when they lock together.  He sucks in a sharp breath, the words heavy in his throat. “I want… this. You, I mean, outside of the stage.”

He wants Aoidos the way he is now, outside his velvet image and under the curtains—blunt, cunning, and a little snippy. He’s the one person with enough energy to keep up with Aoidos, and Aoidos is the only one sly enough to slip between the cracks in his armor and patch him whole. Their minds dance in cycles, neither letting down their stubborn walls until tension builds, cracks a fire and burns all until nothing but themselves remain. They heal each other in the process; Rackam can’t recall how they wound up together in the Knickknack Shop, but he doesn’t regret it. Aoidos holds his humility bare and mends it with florid gestures, with the banter they share together, and Rackam loves him for it.

His cheeks grow pinker at the view of himself spread full front wearing only a shirt. His open, gaping hole is covered in bare strings, but his cock juts out eagerly. His girth fits nicely in Aoi’s palm, fingers nudging in slight motions, knowing how much he wants to come. The other palm slips down his thigh and a lube covered finger coats his rim.

“I love you,” Aoidos says, buried against his neck. He leans in and prods him with one finger, then two, until he’s stretched full. “You’re blunt and unyielding, yet you lie here, the most unpredictable sight I’ve ever seen.”

He pauses, groans a kiss to his neck, savoring how soft Rackam feels under him when their chests press together.

“You’ve easily become my sweetest memory.”

The last bit Aoidos murmurs softly, in English, and Rackam commits it to memory while three fingers trail over his prostate.

“...I can understand you,” he mumbles in between gasps, eyes closed.

Aoi splutters, eyes widening, unsure if he’s embarrassed or if he _wants_ Rackam to know.

Rackam breaks a short, almost pleading sigh when his thighs let up and his ears catch the sound of Aoi’s zipper.

“Again, you’re unpredictable,” Aoidos says, pulling away from Rackam’s neck.

He lines himself up with Rackam, who holds his breath anticipatingly. Aoidos’ unbuttoned shirt flutters when he pushes in slowly. Aoidos is thick, and it takes Rackam some time to adjust before he can actually start moving. The sight of him disappearing inside Rackam is obscene and he’s hard as stone, feels arms slither around his neck when Rackam grips him. He wonders how one person can possibly rile him up this much, but it makes sense because it’s _Rackam_.

Rackam finally moans out when hands grip him by the waist and the headboard whacks the wall with speed. Aoidos is already close and the way Rackam’s mouth haphazardly forms an “O” has him groaning uncontrollably. The same raw intensity in Aoidos’ music plays in his thrusts; a long string of notes escape Rackam’s throat into the open.

“A , aa, hn, _Aoidos!_ ” Rackam’s eyes snap closed and he shouts when thick spurts land on his stomach.

Aoidos picks up faster until nothing but high whines hit the shell of his ear. Rackam comes first, spills along both of their stomachs and his name holds a pining neediness Aoidos has never heard leave his lips before. Aoidos rides through his orgasm, presses dead on his prostate until the last of him leaks in Aoidos’ hand.

It’s only a matter of time until Aoidos stiffens, painting new streams until Rackam is practically coated in white. A light sheen of sweat mixes from their high, breaths laboured and mingling until one of their lips finally catch the other in a swarm of kisses. Rackam doesn’t know who pulls away for air, doesn’t have energy to curse when Aoidos pulls out. He’s spent, warm and tingling with lace, but he feels wonderful. His arms wrap Aoidos in a tight embrace before Aoidos can quip some pun about the come on his stomach. Rackam relaxes, completely still under him.

This is what he wants, feeling at peace with the entire world in his arms.

“...You did good,” Rackam mumbles. Aoidos feels his lip slowly curl into a smile. “Real good.”

“Of course. Who would I be not to give my best for you?” Aoidos chuckles, feeling warmth at the base of his neck, content with the time they have together.

He thanks whatever skies or goddess for letting him spend time like this, open and hair spread with the sun in his arms. His mind still runs foggy about his past, but he feels as if he’s been given a second chance to make the best memories he’s ever had.

He notes to clean up in a minute, barely managing a whisper. “Thank you, love. You were wonderful.”

He means for Rackam to know this time and smiles at the many thousand hours they’ll spend together.

Rackam sighs, murmurs something akin to ‘you’re welcome’ and starting laundry at sunrise—in English this time—and Aoidos giggles lightly at his accent.

**Author's Note:**

> Rackam’s a good bottom


End file.
